


A matter of national security

by ShannonXL



Series: Shit My Sherlock Does [11]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fem!Sherlock, Female Sherlock Holmes, Femlock, Gen, Vignette, girl!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3292403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonXL/pseuds/ShannonXL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's not allowed back home. This doesn't explain why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A matter of national security

John waits to search the apartment. He waits for exactly twenty-two minutes (the duration of one episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, which he began to enjoy more once Sherlock started dragging him with her on cases). He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, not really. He’s not well-versed in spy craft, he only really knows what he’s gleaned from the Bourne movies. He keeps thinking, if he just _sees_ it (whatever _it_ is) he’ll know. Of course, he misses the obvious clues. He skims Sherlock’s passport and ignores the important details. He examines her green card, and doesn’t see it for what it is (a fake). He runs his fingers over her jewelry, bypassing all of the important clues there in favor of some documents regarding the correct preservation of pig brains.

* * *

“Poor John.”

Sherlock caresses Irene’s ankle underneath the table.

“It’s his fault for snooping poorly.”

Irene smiles, red lips curling.

“You could just tell him.”

Sherlock kisses her fingers.

“And spoil the fun he’s having? Not a chance.”

* * *

 

Years ago, they sat across from one another, very much the same. Sherlock’s wrists were red and tender from the cuffs, and Irene was still disguised, her black turtleneck muting her in the fluorescent darkness. 

They argued, but what they were really saying was what mattered.

“You lied.”

“So did you.”

Of course.

“This is mad.”

“I assure you, I’m quite sane.”

But-

“We barely know each other.”

“I know enough.”

“But how much of what we know is true?”

“I suppose we’ll have to find out.”

And-

“You’ll burn for this.”

“I intend to.”

And she did, in a way. Burn. She was extradited that evening. First, to Oxford, to pack her things. Then, sent on a train headed for Paris. She didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to the museums, or her favorite works of art, but it didn’t matter. Much. She’d only loved the paintings because Irene loved them. And the rocks and rubble in the other museums didn’t matter much. The discoveries, now those mattered, but those were things she could read about in books. 

She ran.

Across Europe. And then, further. She proposed in Grand Central Station, but she married Irene in Boston. It was a tryst that lasted for months. She befriended a hacker, and picked up a jewelry case along the way. 

(Inside the case is a gps, which Irene uses to find Sherlock every time she relocates; it is this important detail that John overlooked). 

* * *

The “why” is a matter of national security. The more important “why”… it was a vow. Sherlock made it in that little, poorly-lit room. She would go without London, without her Oxford education, without her home, without all of it, if she had to. They were in love. She would make do. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://shitmysherlockdoes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC59JG1itWyFpCNCIlk1K-Ug)
> 
> [Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/shannonxl)


End file.
